


Along the Road

by 68Henley



Series: It's the Journey [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-07 13:52:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8803363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/68Henley/pseuds/68Henley
Summary: This is a collection of one-shots related to It's the Journey.  Some can be read alone, although most or all will make more sense if you've read through the relevant part of It's the Journey.  Each chapter will tell you how far you need to have read in it's the Journey to get the full backstory.  If you have read It's the Journey and would like to see more about something in a one-shot or would like to see something that wasn't in the story but would fit within the 'verse, please let me know via comment (I don't know how to do DMs or PMs on this site; if you know how, feel free to contact me that way as well).  I am taking suggestions.  The stories may or may not end up being posted in chronological order.  It's the Journey is primarily Klaine, but not all the stories in Along the Road will be Klaine focused.  I will also list the ratings for each chapter, as they may vary.





	1. Who's Your Mommy?

**Author's Note:**

> Who's Your Mommy? covers events occurring through chapter 13 of It's the Journey; it also covers a few things that occur past the end of It's the Journey, but you don't need to have read the rest of the story, as it isn't relevant to the events that occur past the end. This story focuses on the relationship between Santana and Stephen, and you get to see a bit more of Rachel's version of parenting, as well as some of Finn's early attempts. This chapter is rated T, although it borders on G.
> 
> Please comment and let me know what you think. Thank you so much for reading!

WHO’S YOUR MOMMY?

Santana walked into the loft after her shift at the bar to the sounds of a baby screaming at the top of his lungs. “Rachel, what’s up with Stephen?” She called out, heading towards the crib in Rachel’s room.

Rachel emerged from Kurt’s room, saying, “I have no idea. He’s been screaming all day!”

“Well, what have you been doing with him?” Santana asked.

“Nothing. He’s a baby. He can’t do anything, and you certainly can’t do anything with him,” Rachel responded.

Reaching in and picking up the tiny boy, Santana placed one hand under his bottom and supported his neck and upper back with the other, bringing him to her chest. “Shh, shh, mijo, I’m here, it’s okay,” she soothed. “When was the last time you changed him? He’s soaked,” she said.

“I don’t really remember. Not too long ago. I was going to change him again when he ate.”

Despite his sopping diaper, the little boy was nuzzling and pawing at Santana’s breast. “He’s hungry now,” she told the child’s mother.

“Well, he isn’t due to eat again for another hour,” Rachel informed her.

“Come on, Stevie, let’s get you changed and fed,” Santana addressed the baby in her arms.

“His name is Stephen,” Rachel said crossly.

Santana ignored her, changing the baby’s diaper and heading towards the kitchen. 

“He isn’t supposed to eat yet,” Rachel insisted. “They said at the hospital he’d eat every three hours at this age. He ate just a couple of hours ago.”

Santana looked pointedly at the half-full bottle on the counter. “How much did he eat then?”

“I don’t know. Half the bottle, I guess. He just stopped eating and turned away from it and started fussing. He started screaming a little while later. But like I said, he’s been pretty much screaming all day.”

Santana sighed. Sitting down, she laid the baby face down across her lap, patting his back until he burped. “Did you burp him?”

“What?”

“Babies swallow air when they eat, especially when they drink from a bottle. They usually can’t get rid of it themselves, so you have to burp them. He probably quit eating because he swallowed too much air, so he felt full. Since you didn’t burp him, all that air just stayed in his little tummy and made it hurt, but once the formula was gone he was hungry again.” As she explained, she got up, settling the baby against her shoulder and holding him securely with one arm while with the other she began preparing a new bottle. “And, on top of that, while schedules are great, not every schedule is perfect for every baby. You have to adapt.”

“And how would you know so much about it?” Rachel asked sarcastically. “It’s not like you ever had a baby.”

“Um, babysitting.”

“You’re the youngest,” Rachel pointed out.

“And I have two nieces and a nephew, not to mention younger cousins, neighbors; you don’t have to have younger siblings to babysit. Didn’t you ever babysit?”

“I had a career to focus on and prepare for,” Rachel said haughtily.

“Hmm. How’s that working out for you?” Santana asked. Okay, maybe it was a little bit snarky, but Rachel deserved it.

“This,” Rachel said, looking pointedly at the baby who was now settled in Santana’s arms, drinking a bottle, “Is merely a temporary set-back. I’m working on getting back into shape and back on the stage as quickly as possible. That’s what I was doing in Kurt’s room – looking through audition notices, both for student productions at school and for legitimate Broadway theater. I couldn’t focus where he was yelling.”

Santana took the bottle away from the baby, who fussed at its loss. “I know, little one, but let’s show her how it’s done, then we can finish.” She burped him again, wiped away a tiny bit of formula that had come up with the burp, and gave him his bottle again. “That’s how you prevent a repeat of today,” she told the child’s mother, who rolled her eyes and stalked into her room.

An hour later Kurt returned from his shift at the diner to find Santana sitting on the floor, her back leaning against the couch. Stephen was sitting in her lap, braced between her arms so he leaned against her stomach. “The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round,” she sang softly, as she slowly turned the pages of the board book she was holding. 

“What are you doing?” He asked. 

“Um, singing. Am I so out of practice that it’s unrecognizable as such?”

“But Wheels on the Bus?”

“Well, I was all for a little Nine-Inch-Nails, but little man here vetoed that. I think he just wanted pictures to go with his music.”

“Isn’t he too young for all this stuff?”

“My mother and both grandmothers sang to all of us from the day we were born. And read to us, too. And apparently, if that’s going to happen for this little guy, it’s going to be up to you and me. You-know-who is clearly uninterested.”

“But two weeks?”

“Never too early. But he’s getting sleepy. I’ll try to put him to bed in a little while. He and Rachel apparently had a bad day, so I’m going to try to get him to sleep before I take him in to her room. I would have liked to have taken him out, gotten them completely away from each other for a while, but it’s too cold and too dark out right now, and while I feel okay by myself in our neighborhood after dark, I can take care of myself. I’d feel a little nervous out with him after dark by myself.”

Kurt grabbed another book from the pile on the end table. “My turn. He just might be my nephew, after all.”

As he reached out for the baby, Santana snuggled him closer for a moment before sighing, kissing the top of Stephen’s tiny head, and passing him almost reluctantly to Kurt. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear that she was his mother, and that she was unwilling to let someone else hold him.

* * *

“God, I cannot stand being cooped up in here with him any longer!” Rachel raged, sending a glare toward Stephen, asleep in his crib.

“What did he do now?” Santana asked, waltzing into Rachel’s room, cup of coffee in hand.

“He was up three times last night!”

“I’m aware. Remember, I’m the one who fed and changed him and got him back to sleep,” Santana pointed out.

“But he woke me up every time. How am I supposed to catch up with classes and prepare for auditions if I can’t even get a full night’s sleep?”

“I don’t know. I’m dancing, waitressing, covering for my stoner manager, and auditing classes so I’m ready to actually take classes next semester, and I manage, despite being the one who stays up with him.”

“But you don’t have to be perfect at any of that. I have to be perfect, and I go back to school next week; I have to prove to everyone that he hasn’t made me lose my edge. No one can think a baby’s made me soft,” Rachel insisted.

“Then you might want to try a few crunches,” Santana said, a bit cruelly. She was sick and tired of Rachel griping about Stephen constantly. He’d done nothing to bring this on himself, and his mother seemed to blame him for everything wrong in her life. She was also more than a little fed up with taking care of a baby who wasn’t her own, even as much as she loved him, particularly when the child’s mother seemed to regard that as Santana’s job, to be done without complaint, payment, or appreciation of any sort.

Rachel glanced down at her stomach, remarkably flat for having given birth only three weeks earlier, but still not as firm as it had been before her pregnancy. Deciding to change tactics, she said, “Have you talked to Blaine recently? He just vanished after I had Stephen. We should call him. Do you have to work today? We could meet him for lunch or something.”

“He probably doesn’t want to babysit,” Santana commented. “And yes, I have to work, but not until late afternoon.”

“Great. I’ll call him,” Rachel said.

After a short conversation, she hung up and turned to Santana. “Okay, he has a class or study group or something at lunch time, but he said he could meet for coffee in an hour.”

Santana stared at her cup. “Oh, well, I guess more caffeine won’t hurt. Maybe it’ll be better coffee than this stuff.”

“If you want nice coffee you buy it. Do you know how much formula costs?”

“You know there’s an alternative that’s a lot cheaper.”

“I will not have him doing one more thing to ruin my body. It would destroy my breasts.”

“No one’s looking at your breasts, Berry.”

“I’m certain no one will be if it looks like I’ve been breastfeeding.”

“Whatever.”

Thirty minutes later Santana had woken Stephen, dressed him warmly in layers, and checked to make sure everything they needed was in his diaper bag, and they left. “Berry, you can carry the baby or the diaper bag and stroller. There are two of us, there’s no need for me to juggle all of this and Stephen too,” she complained.

Rachel reluctantly reached out and took the folded umbrella stroller from her as they approached the top of the first set of stairs down to the street. Ignoring Santana’s glare at being left with both the baby and the diaper bag, she jogged down the stairs and was waiting impatiently at the bottom when Santana, slowed down by an infant and his supplies, arrived.

“I’m glad there wasn’t a fire. My baby would have died if he’d been depending on you to get him out in that case.”

“I would hope that if there was a fire you’d be a little more concerned with getting him out yourself,” Santana snarled back.

Once on the street, they opened the stroller and buckled Stephen in. Rachel left Santana to carry the diaper bag and push the stroller, while she walked alongside. Santana supposed she should consider herself lucky that Rachel at least picked up the front of the stroller to help carry it down the stairs at the subway station, and back up again when they reached their stop.

They arrived at the coffee shop and greeted Blaine warmly. He entered the line and ordered their coffee while they got a table. 

Stephen had dozed off again, and Santana positioned the stroller to face her. She gently opened his jacket to keep him from getting too warm in the cozy shop, doing her best to not wake him. An elderly woman passed by and patted her on the shoulder, saying, “So sweet. And he looks just like his mommy. You can just tell he’s going to look like you when he grows up.”

“He’s mine, actually,” Rachel informed her in a frosty tone, although she still made no move to touch the tiny child.

“Oh,” the woman exclaimed, startled. Santana shot her an apologetic glance.

Blaine soon joined them, coffee in hand, and they began discussing their lives. Blaine had already noted that Santana was pushing the stroller when they arrived, but hadn’t thought too much about it. Now he noticed that it faced Santana, and that Rachel barely seemed aware of the baby’s presence, although Santana kept a close eye on him as he slept. Most of Rachel’s news revolved around what she was doing to get back on track, both with school and her career. She mentioned DNA testing to prove to Finn that he was Stephen’s father, and other than that the news concerning her less than one month old child revolved around the litany of sitters who were caring for him, or were lined up to do so, while his mother focused on becoming a star. When Stephen awoke and began to fuss, Rachel made an annoyed face, while Santana reached down and picked him up. She snuggled him close and he calmed down slightly as she reached into the diaper bag for his bottle. Shifting him into the crook of one arm, she began to feed him. Although she continued to participate in the conversation, the majority of her attention was clearly focused on the baby. She cooed at him and glanced only briefly at Blaine and Rachel, mostly maintaining eye contact with Stephen, who stared at her face intently. If Blaine hadn’t known better, he would have sworn the baby was Santana’s.

* * *

A couple of weeks later, Rachel and Santana came to see him play, along with Kurt and Adam. During their eleven o’clock set break, the girls excused themselves, as the babysitter had a curfew, and they had to get home to relieve her. Santana seemed fine with leaving, but Rachel seemed put out; Blaine briefly wondered if she was going to try to get Santana to go home to the baby without her, but when Rachel began whining about leaving a glare from Santana shut her up. Blaine had a feeling it wouldn’t last long, and was glad he could get back on stage and away from them before the argument that was brewing erupted.

They were waiting for the subway when Rachel turned to Santana and said, “Really? You couldn’t help me out just once? You could have gone home and paid Jackie and stayed with him, and I could have had a nice evening out. But no! You couldn’t even do this one little thing for me. Since I had Stephen I haven’t gotten to have any fun at all.” She set her mouth in a pout.

“Seriously? You’ve got to be kidding. I babysit him constantly. Even when you’re around I’m the one who takes care of him!”

“I have other things to deal with!”

“You have a baby! You have to deal with him. He has to come first now, whether you like it or not!”

“Plenty of women have successful careers after having children,” Rachel stated.

“But that doesn’t mean that they ignore the existence of the children,” Santana argued. Rachel didn’t respond, opting instead to give Santana the silent treatment.

* * *

A few weeks later, Stephen’s paternity confirmed, his parents married in a small ceremony in Lima. A reception was held at Rachel’s fathers’ home. Everyone wanted to see Stephen, and he was passed from person to person, everyone adoring him. Only his mother seemed uninterested, and made every effort to refocus attention on herself. Finn loved showing him off, but when he grew tired and fussy Finn was at a loss as to what to do. Rachel made no move to help him, but Santana stepped in, taking the child and soothing him. She disappeared, finding a quiet guest room in which she could change and feed him, before putting him to sleep. There was no crib or travel crib there, and she wasn’t sure where Rachel had put them, so she stayed with the baby to make certain he was okay napping on the bed. Rachel had clearly been getting annoyed by the attention showered on her child, and Santana was ready to slap her. The last thing she needed was to be another planet orbiting Rachel Berry anyway, and she didn’t want to deal with Rachel any more today. 

* * *

Santana awoke to the sounds of three month old Stephen shrieking in pain. She stumbled toward the bedroom that Finn and Rachel now shared with the child, nearly running into Kurt who was emerging from his room as well. “Will someone please make him shut up?!” Rachel yelled. Finn nearly ran into both of them as he walked out of the room carrying the baby.

“What’s wrong with him?” Kurt asked groggily.

“I don’t know,” Finn answered. “He was fussy all day, and you and Santana were either working or at school, and I was supposed to be at school but the babysitter called and made me come home. Rachel was working on some project at NYADA and couldn’t come-“

“Wouldn’t come,” Kurt clarified. “Her classes today were all in the morning. Her afternoon ones were cancelled because of some meeting all the professors had about recruitment and admissions and auditions or something like that. She’s trying to get cast in another student production, but after she bailed on the first one she agreed to do, no one wants to work with her. I get why she bailed, but I told her not to agree to it in the first place. Once she said she’d do it, she should have followed through.”

Santana was quiet. She knew she should let Finn handle this himself, but she couldn’t. She watched Stephen for a few minutes, as Finn tried to comfort him.

“Maybe if I put him in the stroller and took him for a walk?” Finn mused.

“I don’t think so,” Santana sighed, reaching to take the boy. “It’s the middle of the night in the middle of winter. Look how he’s pulling and rubbing his ears. And he’s hot, I think he has a fever.”

“I could call my mom . . .” Finn mused.

“Let’s give him baby Tylenol now, and take him to the doctor in the morning,” Santana suggested.

“Um, okay,” Finn said uncertainly.

Santana got the medicine and managed to get Stephen to take it. She was the only person who could get him to take medicine. After almost an hour the medicine seemed to take effect. It only made him a little cooler, but he calmed down somewhat, as long as someone was holding him and walking. Santana took turns with Finn and Kurt while Rachel slept.

In the morning Santana accompanied Finn and Stephen to the doctor, not trusting Finn to describe the boy’s symptoms accurately. They left with a diagnosis of an ear infection, prescription in hand. Santana called in sick to work on the way home. When they arrived, they found Kurt returning from his early classes and Rachel gone. Although they started his medication, it took time for it to work. All of that day and the next Stephen spent most of the day and night crying, before the antibiotic finally seemed to kick in and make him feel better. Rachel made herself as scarce as possible, while Santana took care of the sick infant. Finn and Kurt helped out a little so that Santana could nap, but both felt helpless and incompetent, so they mostly let Santana take charge and care for him. By the time he was better Santana was exhausted, but had to return to work and school.

She was in the dressing room of the club where she worked as a dancer, trying to cover the evidence of more than two days with almost no sleep, when one of the older dancers saw her and laughed. “Honey, you’re too tired to even put on makeup, and I would have sworn you could do that in your sleep. Let me help you.” As she applied concealer under Santana’s eyes, she said, “If I didn’t know better I’d swear you were that little boy’s mama.”

* * *

“Blaine and I have decided to move in together,” Kurt announced. It was early March, a little over a week before spring break. Santana’s heart sank at the news; there went her backup with Stephen.

“But, who’s going to watch Stephen if I’m in class or working and so are Finn and Santana?” Rachel protested.

“I guess you’re going to have to arrange for a babysitter,” Kurt informed her. “Which might be a good idea if you and Finn are both busy anyway.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” he said, in an only slightly condescending tone, “that you should have been doing that all along, not assuming Santana or I will always be available to take care of Stephen. We both love him, but really, he is your baby.”

“I would think that you would show some responsibility, not just run out on your obligations,” Rachel said haughtily.

Kurt took a deep breath and blew it out his nose. Santana recognized the signs; he was trying to calm himself down and not scream at Rachel. “I would think you’d at least attempt to do the same,” he said, “especially since Stephen isn’t my obligation, and he isn’t Santana’s. In case it escaped your notice, I didn’t father a child, Finn did, and Santana didn’t give birth, you did, so although we both love Stephen, he isn’t our responsibility, he’s yours.”

Rachel spun on her heel and stormed into her room. Santana was certain if she’d had an actual door she would have slammed it.

Finn looked confused. “I’m not sure how we’re going to manage,” he said. “I’m not like you or Blaine; I was never good in school. I was good at sports and okay with the music, but the rest of it. . . .” He trailed off.

“Your point?” Kurt asked him.

“It’s just, Rachel is working some, going to school full time, and working on getting into a show, all while being an understudy or stand-in or whatever she is for ¬Funny Girl, and Santana is always working and now she’s in school too, and I’m in school full time, and I think I’m going to get a job offer from one of the places I applied, but I have to do study groups too. I’m not like the rest of you. I need help with my classes and studying, and between that and how much Santana and Rachel are gone, we really need you here with Stephen.”

“Finn, you and Rachel are going to have to figure out something. I’m sorry, but this situation isn’t my fault, and it’s not Santana’s. Yes, you and Rachel go to school full time, and Rachel has a couple of part time jobs, but Santana works two jobs, and her management at both of them seem a little foggy on the concept of part time, and I work three, two with similar issues, and Isabelle just forgets that anyone has a life outside of Vogue.com, and we both go to school full time as well.”

Santana was grateful for the support, but still dreaded losing the only other adult who was both competent and willing to care for the baby. Despite Kurt’s speeches, she really didn’t think the situation was likely to change.

* * *

Kurt and Blaine found an apartment together, and as predicted, a greater share of the responsibility for Stephen fell on Santana. She began caring for him more and more as Kurt spent more time packing. The only relief came from the daycare at the community center where Finn had gotten a job, but its hours were limited, and Santana frequently received panicked phone calls from Finn or Rachel begging her to pick Stephen up when the daycare closed.

“Here he is, Mrs. Hudson,” the young woman approaching the daycare desk said as she brought Stephen to Santana, along with his diaper bag.

“Oh, I’m not Mrs. Hudson,” she told her.

“I’m sorry, I just assumed you and this little guy’s dad were married; I guess I shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

“He’s not mine, but I am authorized to pick him up,” Santana told her. “They checked my ID before they called for him. You can check it again if you want.”

“Oh, I just assumed you were his mother,” the woman said. “I guess I’ve never seen her, and I’ve seen you a few times, and he’s so comfortable with you.”

“I live with his parents and uncle, so we’re buddies, aren’t we, mijo?”

Stephen smiled up at Santana and gurgled at her, grabbing for her hair. Shifting him to her hip and shouldering his bag, she smiled at the woman and said, “Thanks for staying a few minutes late with him. They didn’t call me until right before close, and it took a few minutes to convince my boss I had to leave.”

“No problem,” the woman told her.

“I’m taking my armchair,” Kurt announced when she walked through the door with Stephen. He reached out to take the baby from her arms, freeing her to begin fixing his dinner in the kitchen. 

“I figured,” she said, choosing a selection of partially eaten jars of baby food from the refrigerator.

“I think that’s about all I’m taking, as far as furniture,” he told her.

“Don’t you need someplace to sleep?” She asked.

“Blaine, um, didn’t want to use my bed, so I’m leaving it.”

“Why didn’t he – oh!” Santana started to ask, then realized why Blaine wouldn’t want Kurt’s bed. “Can I have it then?”

“Sure. We bought new linens too, so you can have all my sheets and blankets as well.”

“Privacy at last. After all this time Auntie Tana won’t know what to do with that, will she, Stephen?” She said as she took the baby from Kurt’s arms and secured him in his high chair. As much as she’d miss both Kurt’s company and his help, at least something good was coming from him moving out.

* * *

The day of Kurt’s move, Santana worked an early shift at the club where she danced, and then went directly to the club where she was a waitress. It was nearly three a.m. when she trudged up the final set of steps to the loft, looking forward to collapsing in a real bed for the first time in over a year and a half. Walking into the room that had been Kurt’s, she was stunned to find his bed dismantled and pushed against a wall, having been replaced by Stephen’s crib.

She walked into the next room, where she quietly pulled the covers off Finn and Rachel, kicking the mattress for good measure.

“What?” Rachel asked blearily.

“What the Hell?” Santana hissed.

“What are you talking about?” Rachel asked.

“Once Kurt left I was going to take his room. It just makes sense.”

Finn looked confused and a little scared. “But Rachel said – she told me to –“ 

“You couldn’t expect me to continue to keep him in here,” Rachel said. “I need privacy. I need to be able to sleep, to rest properly. That wasn’t going to happen as long as he was in here.”

“Why put him in Kurt’s room?” Santana demanded. “Put him in the living room. No one in diapers can claim privacy.”

“It’s too busy there. And I need to be able to use that space any time I want without fear of waking him up, because you know what a disaster that is. It’s just better for everyone if he’s in the other bedroom.”

“Everyone except me,” Santana grumbled.

Rachel huffed. “You are so selfish sometimes.”

Santana sent her a death glare before stomping out, biting her tongue to keep from yelling a retort she might (but probably wouldn’t) regret later.

* * *

After a few days of caring for Stephen with no help from his mother, and only limited help from his father, Santana was fed up. Finn often forgot to take Stephen to day care, or just didn’t take him, assuming Santana would be available, and Rachel was completely disengaged, not seeming to know or care where her son was most of the time, as long as he wasn’t bothering her. More than once Santana was forced to drop him off at day care, and arguments between she and Rachel became more and more frequent as she tried to keep up her work schedule and convince Rachel to take responsibility for her child. She couldn’t keep this up, and she knew it.

The final straw came the day she snapped at Stephen. She’d had to call another dancer to cover the end of her shift, because Rachel was God-only-knew where and Finn was making a presentation to a group at the community center about the value of music education, leaving Santana to race to pick Stephen up at day care again. When she picked him up, the girl working the desk cheerfully informed her that Stephen had skipped his nap. She rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath about letting the inmates run the asylum before picking up all of Stephen’s gear and the baby and stalking out. The missed nap made him fussy, and once they got home he kept whining while she tried to make his dinner, then shoved his bowl off his highchair, before beginning protest its loss. “If you’d taken a nap, like you were supposed to, you’d be in a lot better mood, and you wouldn’t be fussing now!” Santana said sharply, raising her voice. Stephen’s eyes grew huge at her tone, and his bottom lip began to quiver, and he started to sob. Realizing what she’d done, she began to gather him into her arms, soothing, “Oh, no, mijo, it’s not your fault. I’m so sorry. Auntie Tana shouldn’t have said that, I’m just frustrated. Those silly girls at day care are supposed to make sure you take your nap. It’s not your fault, I’m not mad at you, I promise.” After a few minutes she was able to calm him down enough to make him something else to eat and feed it to him, but she finally acknowledged the stress was getting to her. It was time for a change.

She paid a visit to Kurt and Blaine, and in the process basically invited herself to live with them. Even if they hadn’t had a spare bedroom, a couch in an apartment without a baby would be an improvement, but they did have one, even if it was tiny. The two men looked at each other, then excused themselves to go to their bedroom to discuss the matter. She was on pins and needles until they returned, announcing that she could stay with them until she was able to find another place, and laughing when she told them she’d already arranged to have Kurt’s old bed delivered. Finally, she would have peace, quiet, and freedom.

* * *

Santana’s expected peace and quiet didn’t turn out quite as expected. Rachel still expected her to look after Stephen regularly; Finn, however, finally realized just how much she’d done. She still heard from both of them, asking her to help, but while Rachel made unreasonable, and hence, easily deniable, demands, Finn’s requests were much more reasonable, and he was quick to acknowledge his own responsibility and the fact that she was doing him a favor. As a result, most of her days off found her taking the subway to Brooklyn to babysit.

Although she complained almost constantly about it, Kurt noticed that her face softened whenever she talked about his nephew, and, like him, she was at the loft at least once a week. Occasionally they went together, and Kurt noticed that Stephen’s face always lit up when he saw her. He had to tamp down pangs of jealousy when they both walked in to the loft and Stephen reached for Santana first, only managing to console himself with the fact that, with a young child’s lack of attention span, the baby was soon reaching for him and struggling to be free of her arms. It was clear that the little boy adored both of them, and equally transparent that they both missed him.

* * *

In early November, Santana and Kurt, accompanied by Brittany and Blaine, made their way to Bushwick, presents in tow, to celebrate Stephen’s first birthday. Leaning against the table while Finn struggled to get the cake out of the bakery box intact, she watched Kurt and Blaine, sitting on the couch with Stephen between them. Blaine had found a sports highlight show featuring the Ohio State Buckeyes football program, and was trying to explain football to the infant, while Kurt leafed through an issue of Vogue and pointed out various pictures as though he were narrating the most fascinating story ever told. Stephen’s eyes, huge and fascinated, constantly moved from Blaine’s face to the television to Kurt’s face, then to the magazine and back to Blaine, occasionally glancing down to the floor where Brittany was playing with his new toys.

“Does he talk yet?” She asked.

“What?” Rachel responded.

“Has he said any words?” Santana clarified.

Rachel rolled her eyes. “He’s a baby. Babies don’t talk.”

Finn cast a worried glance toward his son. “The doctor asked the same thing. She said it’s not unusual for them to talk later than this, but that he should start saying at least a few words soon.”

“Do you talk to him?”

Rachel huffed. “Again, he’s a baby. He wouldn’t understand anything we said to him anyway.”

Finn looked guilty. “I try, but I’m just so busy I forget sometimes.”

Santana rolled her eyes. “The more you talk to him, the faster he’ll talk. By the time I turned one, they couldn’t shut me up.”

“Well, apparently not much has changed since then,” Rachel replied cattily. Kurt and Blaine stifled their laughter; they had to live with Santana, after all.

* * *

As Finn and Rachel left the apartment on Thanksgiving, Rachel turned to Santana. “Why don’t we ever just hang out anymore? Today was fun. Can’t we meet for coffee like we used to, or just go do something?”

Santana eyed her suspiciously. “We never hang out because we were never close, and now that we don’t live together it doesn’t happen by chance. The only time you ever call me is to demand that I keep Stephen so you can get away from him.”

Rachel plastered on a syrupy sweet smile that Santana instantly recognized as fake. “Why would I ever want to be away from this little angel? I’m only away from him because I have to be, you know, to be successful so that I can provide everything he needs.”

Finn looked decidedly uncomfortable as Rachel blithely disregarded his contribution to their child’s financial support.

“Okay, fine. There’s a coffee shop two blocks down, just a block this way from the subway station closest to the apartment. Meet me there, Saturday, eleven o’clock. We can have coffee, and you can be back home in time for Stephen’s nap.”

“I’ll see you then,” Rachel said brightly, turning to leave.

“What was that about?” Kurt asked.

“I don’t know, but I feel like I’m going to be finding out in a couple of days.”

* * * 

Santana was already at the coffee shop when Rachel approached, pushing Stephen in his stroller. They ordered coffee and sat down.

“You know, Santana, I’ve been thinking. You and the doctor both asked about Stephen talking, and Kurt and Blaine kept trying to get him to talk at Thanksgiving, and Finn said some of the other kids his age at the daycare are saying a few words. Maybe, if you were just around him more, he might start talking. I mean, you seem to talk to him as much as you do to me.”

“It’s easier to be civil when speaking to him,” Santana commented.

Rachel ignored her, continuing with her thought. “You could move back in, and things would be so much more convenient. We wouldn’t have to worry about Stephen going to daycare, babysitters –“

“Convenient for you, maybe,” Santana cut her off. “For me, not so much. I both work and go to school in Manhattan. The apartment I share with the boys is much more convenient for everything I have to do, just not as convenient for doing you favors. Not to mention, I happen to be living with Brittany as well now, and we’re a package deal.”

Rachel looked a bit nonplussed as Santana added the last part. She clearly hadn’t considered the implications of Santana’s relationship with Brittany. “Well – “ she started, just as Stephen began to fuss, protesting his imprisonment in his stroller. 

While Rachel ignored him, he seemed to expect her response, instead holding his hands out to Santana, who immediately obliged him by unfastening the straps that held him into the offending device and lifting him to her lap. Once in Santana’s lap, he began to play with the buttons on her blouse with one hand, and her hair with the other, as she fished in her purse for a small plastic container of goldfish crackers for him, having long since learned that Rachel would forget to stock the diaper bag with snacks. Once he saw the crackers, his eyes lit up, and he turned in her lap and gleefully began the task of picking up the small objects and stuffing them into his mouth.

“Are those yummy goldfish, Sweetie?” Santana asked.

With wide eyes, he turned back to her, and, smiling a crumby smile, reached up to pat her cheek. Looking into Santana’s eyes, he opened his mouth and said, through the last remnants of soggy goldfish crumbs, “Mama.” Once the word was out, it seemed to shock everyone at the table, even Stephen.

“Oh, Baby, did you finally decide to talk to us?” Santana asked him, trying to show her approval at his efforts at speech while simultaneously defusing the situation by including Rachel, who seemed, possibly for the first time in her life, at a loss for words.

Delighted with his accomplishment, and with Santana’s clear approval, Stephen bounced in her lap, continuing to stare at her face, as he repeated, “Mama, Mama, Mama!”

Regaining her powers of speech, Rachel announced. “Stephen, I am you mother!”

At her tone, he turned to look at her, face clouding a little, before deciding to focus instead on what was making him happy. Turning back to Santana, he reached up to pat both her cheeks, one with each hand, while chanting, “Mama, Mama, Mama!”

Suddenly Rachel reached out and snatched the child off Santana’s lap, causing him to let out a furious howl as he reached back toward Santana, attempting to return to her arms. Placing him roughly in the stroller, she buckled him in, saying, “I think it’s pretty clear it’s time for us to go. He’s apparently so tired he doesn’t even know who’s who.” Without further conversation, she pushed the stroller from the shop.

* * * 

Rachel fumed all the way home, and was still furious when Finn returned from the community center, where he met with several choir groups he had organized, two of which practiced on Saturday.

“Well, you can stop worrying about Stephen talking,” she announced.

“Oh?” He asked. Stephen starting to talk could only be a good thing, yet she was clearly angry, which confused him.

“Yes. He decided to start talking today, of all days, at coffee with Santana.”

“But isn’t that a good thing?”

“He called her ‘Mama’, Finn! Her, not me!”

“Maybe he meant you . . . .” Finn tried to appease her.

“Sure he did. Watch.” She said, walking over to where her son was playing in a corner of the living room. “Who am I, Stephen?”

The little boy looked at her blankly before turning back to his toy.

“She did this on purpose! You can’t tell me she didn’t!”

“All I ever hear her call herself around him is ‘Auntie Tana,’” Finn told her.

“But she’s around him a lot without us. I just know she told him to call her ‘Mama,” Rachel insisted.

“I don’t think she’d do that,” Finn tried to defend Santana.

“Whose side are you on?”

“I’m not on anyone’s side! I’m just trying to be calm and logical,” Finn told her.

“I’m your wife! You’re supposed to be on my side, always! Or has she turned you against me, too?” Rachel ranted.

“Santana hasn’t turned anyone against anyone!” Finn was getting fed up.

“The Hell she hasn’t!”

“Rachel, language! Do you want Stephen repeating something like that?” He admonished.

“Don’t worry. He won’t say it unless she tells him to!” She spat.

Picking up his son, Finn said, “Rachel, we’re taking a walk. You need to calm down before we get back.”

Rachel didn’t respond as Finn grabbed a couple of snacks for Stephen and a bottle, threw them in the diaper bag, and tossed it over his shoulder as he grabbed the stroller.

Once on the street, he called Santana. The call when to voice mail. He tried Kurt next. “Hey Finn, what’s up?”

“Well apparently Stephen called Santana ‘Mama’ and Rachel’s blowing a gasket.”

“Yeah. Santana told me. She turned her phone off after Rachel called her three times, once to tell her she could never see Stephen again, and twice just to cuss her out.” Well, that explained why he couldn’t reach Santana.

“Have you ever heard her try to get Stephen to call her ‘Mama?’ Rachel is insisting she told him to do it.”

“Nope, only ‘Auntie Tana,’ although I’ve heard her talk to him about Mama and Daddy, but she was talking about Rachel and you.”

“Okay. I didn’t really think she’d do anything like that, but I just wanted to make sure. Um, you might tell her to block Rachel’s number for a while. Oh, and tell her I’m not mad.”

“Will do. Anything else?”

“No,” Finn sighed. “But if you come see Stephen over the next few weeks, you might want to come alone, or just with Blaine; as far as I’m concerned Stephen can still see Santana, but we better make sure Rachel’s not around at the same time for a while.”

“Got it. Well, try and talk her down. I wish you luck.”

* * * 

If Stephen noticed his mother’s slightly colder demeanor, he gave no sign, seeming to simply accept that that was the way Rachel was. He seemed more surprised, however, when she played the doting mother, an act she reserved for times when they were in public together, one which seemed based on his interactions with his Auntie Tana.

He continued to see his Auntie Tana regularly, with her babysitting about once a week. The difference was that Santana and Finn carefully arranged things so that Finn was the one to come home and relieve her. Rachel never thought to look into the identity of the sitters Finn lined up, and therefore simply assumed that Finn was continuing to block Santana from Stephen’s life. 

Eventually, her attitude toward Santana thawed, and she began to call her when babysitting “emergencies” arose, usually the result of her failure to seek a sitter until the moment she actual needed one. However, she was always clear to emphasize to Stephen that she was “Mommy” and Santana was “Auntie Tana,” as if the child needed to be reminded. Santana simply rolled her eyes and tried to hide her exasperation from Rachel, glad that she was being allowed to continue to have a relationship with the child she had come to love.

Once Finn and Rachel divorced, Santana and Brittany, along with Kurt and Blaine, became mainstays in Finn’s children’s lives, up until Finn took his little family and returned to Ohio. Although she missed the children terribly, Santana was always willing to admit that Finn was better off, and more comfortable, in Ohio, where he had the support of family. However, she promised Stephen, and herself, that she would always be there for him if he needed her.

* * *

Santana walked through the crowd of guests at Finn and Quinn’s wedding reception, hugging old friends and catching up on things. Suddenly, she felt arms wrap around her from behind. Looking down, she saw two small hands clasped together around her waist, just as she heard, “Mommy, I couldn’t wait to see you again!”

Turning quickly, she knelt down so she was at eye level with Stephen, saying quietly, “Oh, no, Baby, I’m not your mommy, Quinn is –“

“It’s okay,” She heard Quinn say warmly. “I’m just so glad someone was there for him, to be his mother, when he was little and needed someone so much. Obviously Rachel never was, and I wasn’t there then either. He calls me Mommy too, and I’m okay with that.” Quinn laughed. “We’ve both played the role for him, so if he wants to call us both Mommy, that’s fine.”

“Thank you,” Santana whispered gratefully, hugging Quinn with tears in her eyes. “He’s always-“

“I know,” Quinn told her. “He used to talk about his Mommy, and at first I thought he meant Rachel, but eventually I figured out he meant you. We’ve talked about it. I think he feels like if he calls you something else it might mean losing you, or making you less a part of his life, but I told him he never has to let you go. He needs you as much as he does me.” Turning to Stephen, she said, “Stephen, Honey, I have to go talk to some other guests, but why don’t you catch up with Mommy Tana. You can tell her all about school, okay?”

As Quinn walked away, Stephen wrinkled his nose. “There’s too much homework and I hate word problems and my teacher expects us to write three whole paragraphs, and each one has to have five sentences, and that’s like a million sentences, which is way too much and . . . “

Santana and Quinn shared a smile over his head as he continued to complain about the injustices of second grade. It continued that way for years, well into Stephen’s adulthood. Quinn was there day to day, but when he was truly frustrated or hurting, or just needed to talk, he turned to Santana: when his first crush didn’t like him back, when he had his first kiss, when his first girlfriend dumped him, when another cheated on him, when he was grounded for something completely (according to his teenaged logic) unreasonable, when his grandfather passed away. She spend hours on the phone, and in person when she could, comforting him, soothing him, agreeing that he had the most unreasonable parents (while texting said parents to tell them if he were hers he’d be grounded for much longer), and just being his sounding board. She helped him choose the ring he used to propose, and sat in the front pew, with Finn and Quinn, at his wedding. She was the first person other than his wife to know he was going to be a father, the first to know the baby was a boy, and the first to get a call, shouted over the screams of a baby with incredible lungs, telling her she was, in his mind, at least, a grandmother. It was a bond only broken many years later, when Santana passed away at the age of ninety-one. Even after that, he sometimes found himself standing at her grave, because something important had happened, something she needed to know.


	2. Tiny Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter focuses on Kurt and Blaine and their children, mostly their daughter and a certain dilemma that arises after her birth. It is G rated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It isn't necessary to have read It's the Journey to understand and enjoy this chapter, but it will give you more context. The most important chapter to have read is Chapter 15, which covers most of the important events that form the basis for this chapter. Thank you for reading, and please, please comment. Also, if there's anything else you would like to see from the ITJ 'verse, please let me know. Most of the chapters in ATR are based on suggestions and requests from ITJ readers. I will try respond to any comments, although it may take me a few days. I truly do love hearing from readers, and I really appreciate your thoughts and insights.

TINY THINGS

Blaine was marveling at their beautiful baby girl, who, much like her daddy, loved a dramatic entrance, and decided to make her appearance six weeks early. She was asleep on his chest, and had been for over an hour. He knew that soon Kurt would be there and he’d have to hand her over. Up until today, she’d never been dressed in anything other than a diaper, and swaddled in a blanket. This morning, however, when he arrived she’d been wearing a hospital issued t-shirt as well. It was a promising sign. Only the babies who were stable and doing fairly well wore more than a diaper; clothing for the others would get in the way and waste precious time if an emergency procedure was necessary, time many of them didn’t have. For their little girl to be graduated to clothes at only three days old struck him as little short of a miracle. Right now, however, she was down to nothing but her diaper, and Blaine’s shirt was unbuttoned, a blanket draped over both of them to keep them warm during kangaroo care.

A few minutes later, he felt a large, soft hand on his shoulder and looked up into his husband’s blue eyes, just as Kurt leaned in to kiss him before dropping a kiss on their daughter’s head. “How’s our little princess today?” Kurt asked him softly.

Blaine smiled. “Perfect. She hasn’t incited any riots or reduced any nurses to tears yet.”

“She would never do that!” Kurt scolded.

“Well, she is your daughter,” Blaine laughed. Kurt smacked him lightly on the shoulder. “Careful. Don’t wake her up,” he admonished.

“You just don’t want her to wake up because then it’s my turn,” Kurt accused him.

“Guilty,” Blaine admitted.

Smiling at the gentle exchange she couldn’t help but overhear, a young brunette nurse made her way over to the two men from where she had been making notes in a chart a few isolettes away from them. “Mr. and Mr. Hummel-Anderson, there’s something I need to talk to you about,” she said. At their alarmed expressions, she was quick to reassure them. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. As you may have noticed, Ellie had on a shirt today.” Kurt glanced at Blaine, who smiled and nodded. “Because she’s been doing so well, she’ll be wearing clothes except when we bathe her or when you do kangaroo care with her. Now, we can keep putting her in the hospital issued t-shirts, but as you may have noticed, they aren’t the nicest or the cutest things around. If you’d like to bring clothes from home for her, you’re welcome to do so. You’ll be responsible for taking them home and washing them, and I can’t guarantee nothing will happen to them, so you shouldn’t bring in anything too expensive, or anything of sentimental value. And she’s not going anywhere, so comfort is more important than being cute or showy; you should see some of the stuff people bring in: elaborate dresses with frills and ruffles, things with petticoats, even fancy doll clothes sometimes; they’re ridiculous and not comfortable for the baby – sometimes they’re not even safe. And finally, we need to be able to get whatever it is on and off easily for any necessary procedures and to adjust or change her leads, not to mention for diaper changes. I would suggest t-shirts, onesies, and footed sleepers that snap or zip up the front. Any questions?”

Kurt and Blaine exchanged grins before shaking their heads.

A few moments later Ellie woke up and began to fuss. Kurt held out his arms to take her, his shirt already open. “My turn,” he said as a nurse brought a small bottle. Blaine sighed and handed the tiny child over to him. Kurt checked and changed her diaper, something he was much more comfortable with than Blaine was; it wasn’t that Blaine wasn’t willing, he’d done it with their sons, after all, but she was so small he was afraid he’d hurt her. As he changed her, Kurt brought Blaine back up to speed on their boys, letting him know the latest preschool drama so he’d be prepared when he picked them up that afternoon. The diaper change done, Kurt swaddled Ellie in a blanket and picked up her bottle. 

While he fed her, he and Blaine discussed a few more issues, a necessity since they rarely saw much of each other these days, between each of them trying to spend a few hours a day working, splitting spending time in the NICU with Ellie so she’d be alone as little as possible, and trying to make sure the boys didn’t feel neglected. Each morning, Blaine would come in to be with Ellie, leaving Kurt to get the boys up and ready for school, and get them there. Kurt would work for a few hours, and then go to the hospital to take over for Blaine, who would pick up the boys, eat lunch with them, and then try to work around them or leave them in the care of their nanny while he worked. They traded off who would be with Ellie in the evenings. On good days they’d both spend a little time together with Ellie before visiting hours ended, after the boys went to bed, while a nanny watched over them. On really good ones, they’d manage a meal together. Tonight, it was Blaine’s night to be with their daughter.

“Baby,” Kurt began.

“Hmmm?” Blaine replied, distracted as he tried to find his wallet and the other items from his pockets, which he’d emptied so nothing could poke Ellie.

“Would you mind picking some clothes out for Ellie and bringing them when you come back tonight?”

“Sure, no problem. Did you have anything in particular in mind?”

“No, just the stuff the nurse mentioned: onesies, t-shirts, sleepers, that kind of thing. Just remember, the smaller the better; don’t grab any of the three to six month stuff.”

“Okay. I’m sure there’s something that’ll work in all the stuff my family sent.”

Kurt snorted. “You think?”

“Hey, she’s the first girl born into the Anderson family in more than six generations. They got a little excited.”

“A little?”

“Okay, maybe a lot. The point is, I’m sure there’s stuff that’ll work. Besides, your family sent stuff too.”

“My family sent Sam’s hand-me-downs, and Quinn only did that because I sent her so much of the boys’ stuff she ran out of room.”

“It’s still stuff. And I’ll look through it. I’ve got to go now or I’ll be late picking up the boys. I love you,” he said, leaning down to kiss Kurt tenderly, and then kissing Ellie’s forehead, he whispered, “I love you too, Baby Girl.” Ellie cast an annoyed look at both of her fathers, sucking intently on her bottle to get the last bit of milk. 

Kurt squeezed Blaine’s hand with his free one. “I love you, too.”

* * *

Blaine picked up his twin sons from preschool, oohing and ahhing over the letters they had traced and glued various materials to: glitter covered G’s, popcorn covered P’s, and button covered B’s. The boys told them all about the words they had talked about in circle time, the songs they had sung, the things they had counted, and the pictures they had drawn. After telling him about the day’s work, they told him about the games they had played at recess. 

As they neared a small diner, Blaine said, “Guess what? Daddy and I got some really great news today, so what would you think of going to the diner and celebrating for lunch?” He knew the boys loved the food there, but Kurt never liked it because it wasn’t exactly the healthiest place.

“Yeah!” Ian enthused.

“Can we get French fries?” Patrick wanted to know.

“And milkshakes!” Ian prompted.

“Sure!” Blaine knew he’d probably get in trouble if Kurt thought to ask him what they’d had for lunch, so he just sent up a prayer that Kurt would be too distracted to think about what he and the boys might have eaten for lunch. Besides, a burger and fries every once in a while wouldn’t kill them.

They sat down and Blaine ordered three hamburgers, three orders of fries, and three milkshakes, two chocolate and one vanilla. “So, do you want to hear the good news?”

The boys shrugged. They both figured if it actually had anything to do with them, Papa would have told them already. Since it didn’t have something to do with them, the only important thing was really that instead of going home and having leftover chicken, rice and vegetables, or maybe a turkey sandwich, they got to have burgers, fries and milkshakes. 

“Your sister got to wear clothes for the first time today!”

They boys exchanged a look, before looking back to their father. “Everyone wears clothes,” Patrick said, obviously unimpressed.

“Even if they don’t want to,” Ian added, clearly still not happy about Kurt’s stance on semi-public nudity. He more or less understood why he had to wear clothes when out of the house, but in the house, he felt he shouldn’t have to do so unless he wanted, while his Daddy insisted that outside of his own room or bathroom, he had to have on at least a minimal amount of clothing.

“Well, babies aren’t born with clothes, and very tiny babies or babies who are early or sick don’t wear clothes. Because your sister was so little and so early she didn’t get to wear clothes for the first couple of days, but now she gets to wear them.”

“O-kay,” Patrick said, clearly still mystified as to why this excited his Papa so much.

“Yeah, food!” Ian exclaimed, quickly forgetting all about the little sister he’d never seen in person in favor of a (semi) greasy burger, a pile of fries, and a chocolate shake with whipped cream and sprinkles.

After lunch, Blaine took the boys home, read them a story and put them down for naps. Then he went to the nursery, and began to go through the clothes neatly put away in the dresser. He smiled, remembering the time he freaked out over how tiny the newborn clothes were before they had the boys; he’d been convinced they could never take care of something so small and helpless. Now they boys were thriving and he had a daughter who was even smaller, and needed clothes. Because the boys had been a little small at birth, they had spent a bit more time than most babies in newborn and zero to three month clothes, which had seemed impossibly tiny to Blaine before their births. Now, however, he looked over the newborn clothes with a frown. Some brands ran smaller than others, and he tried to pick those out, but even those seemed as if they would be too big. The sizes that had seemed so small before the boys were born now looked ridiculously large. Sighing, he picked out the four smallest things he could find and tucked them into a small bag to take with him when he returned to the hospital that evening.

* * *

Blaine spent the rest of the time before the boys woke up reviewing designs and plans from the costume and set designers for his new show, approving some, rejecting others, and making comments and notes about possible changes to a third set. Once the boys awoke, they went to the park. When they returned, Blaine turned the boys over to Katie, the nanny who cared for them in the afternoons and evenings when Kurt and Blaine were working or otherwise busy, and made his way to the hospital.

“Hey, Sweetheart. You’re early. Are you trying to steal my angel before it’s your turn?” Kurt said.

Blaine glanced down at his daughter in time to see what looked like a little smile on her sleeping face. It lasted only a moment before it was gone. “No, but we might have a problem.”

“Hmm. What’s that?” Kurt asked, distracted by the faces his slumbering daughter was making.

“Look,” Blaine replied, holding up the clothes he had brought.

Kurt saw the problem immediately. “Those are going to swallow her. They’re huge. Why did you pick those?”

“They’re all newborn size, and they’re the smallest of the bunch,” Blaine defended his choices. “I’m not sure what to do.”

“Preemie clothes,” said a voice from across the room. Looking up, the two men saw an older nurse approaching them. “They make special clothes for premature babies.”

“Where would we even find them?” Kurt asked. “Do you have to special order them?”

The man smiled at them. “Most well stocked baby stores carry them now. Between improvements in fertility treatments and improvements in treating premature and sick babies, a lot more premature babies are born, and a lot more tiny babies survive, thrive even. But regular baby clothes are too big for them. More than a few savvy clothing manufacturers saw a need and filled it, making a tidy profit in the process. A lot of our parents already have them before their babies are born, but they have reason to expect their children will be early or very small for some reason. You didn’t have any reason to expect that, so it doesn’t surprise me that you haven’t done much research on preemies or their clothing requirements. Just go to your favorite baby store and ask. Some have departments with preemie clothes, others have them mixed in with the other sizes.”

Kurt and Blaine shared a look. “I’ll go,” Kurt announced. Blaine wasn’t surprised. Purchasing the kids’ clothes was a task that usually fell to Kurt. Blaine helped, and occasionally found something he loved and insisted on buying, usually something that caused Kurt to roll his eyes, but it was mostly Kurt’s job. Blaine contributed common sense, reminding him before each trip to buy their clothes that the boys were not runway models, and neither had any desire to dress like one. Despite their Daddy’s chosen field, both boys took after their Papa, preferring to be comfortable. They grudgingly dressed up for family pictures and the few formal events they attended, but preferred to stick to casual, comfortable clothing, or no clothing, whenever possible.

“Remember, Babe, comfortable. She doesn’t need to dress up in the NICU, even if she’s your daughter.”

“I know,” Kurt said, wishing he had an excuse to buy at least one fancy dress, but knowing he didn’t.

The two men talked quietly for a time, and then consulted the nurse who told them about preemie clothes to get an idea how long he thought Ellie might need them. It would help Kurt decide how many things to buy, and if they should all be for cold weather or not. Finally, Ellie screwed up her face and grunted, then began to fuss. Kurt stood up, still supporting her against his body as the blanket fell. Stepping over it, he changed her diaper, then handed her to Blaine.

“Stay with Papa, Little One. Daddy has to go find you some more suitable clothes.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Blaine protested.

“I know,” Kurt smiled.

“Comfortable, easy to put on and take off,” Blaine reminded.

“I know,” Kurt said.

* * *

Leaving, he called home and spoke to the nanny, and then asked her to put him on speaker. “Boys, Daddy has to run an errand on the way home, so I’m just going to order a pizza for dinner tonight.”

“Just cheese, no funny stuff on it,” Ian said.

“Ian, Honey, vegetables on pizza aren’t funny.” 

“Yes, they are,” Patrick spoke up, backing his brother up.

Kurt sighed. “Okay, fine, I’ll order half cheese, but I’m getting salad too, and you have to eat some.”

“Okay,” both boys reluctantly agreed.

After their father hung up, Ian looked at Patrick. “I wish we had a dog like Avery from school. She just feeds stuff she doesn’t like to him.”

“It wouldn’t work,” Patrick sighed. “’Member, she said it won’t eat vegetables and most fruit.”

“So it wouldn’t eat salad?”

“I don’t think so.”

* * *

Blissfully unaware of his sons’ schemes to avoid vegetables, Kurt went directly from the hospital to his favorite baby store, an upscale boutique not far from their home.

“Mr. Hummel-Anderson! It’s been so long!” The clerk, an attractive middle-aged woman, greeted him. “I thought your boys had outgrown us. Getting a gift for a friend?”

“No,” he smiled at her. “We have a little girl now.”

“Really? Congratulations! When is she due?” Obviously, she had missed the implication that their daughter had already been born.

Kurt’s face clouded slightly. “Well, she was due in a little under six weeks, but she came early.”

“That explains why I didn’t see you before she came,” the clerk said, confident that Kurt would have been shopping prior to his child’s birth, barring unforeseen circumstances.

“Well, that and the fact that we have all the boys’ things, and our families, especially Blaine’s, were very excited about her impending arrival, and they sent us far more than we need. We really don’t need anything.”

At the clerk’s puzzled expression, he continued, “Well, except for clothes. We were given a ton of clothes, but the smallest are newborn size, and they’re too big for her. I need to buy preemie clothes.”

The clerk’s expression darkened a bit. “We don’t have much in the way of preemie clothes. We might have a few things. Let me look.”

Kurt trailed behind her as she made her way to the section of the store where the clothes were displayed. Flipping through the racks, she muttered to herself. “Nothing here, nothing here, I know they don’t have preemie clothes, nothing there, maybe this one. . . no, that doesn’t come that small . . .”

Kurt was beginning to give up hope as she leafed through the clothes on the final rack when she triumphantly exclaimed, “Aha, got something!” 

He looked up, only to have his heart sink when he saw what she was holding: A fluffy red and white confection of a dress, with so many petticoats that the skirt stood almost straight out. “She’s still in the hospital. They want her to have comfortable clothes that are easy to take on and off, things like sleepers and onesies.” The desire to buy fancy clothes had melted away along with his patience as his frustration grew.

“But, what about Christmas pictures?” The clerk wanted to know.

“We’ll send out the pictures we took right after she was born if she’s not home by then, and if she is, maybe I’ll come get that, but for now, it’s not what we need.”

“Well, it’s all we have,” the clerk told him with an air of finality.

“I’ll just have to go somewhere else then,” Kurt told her, heading for the door. The clerk gaped after him, apparently unaccustomed to not getting a sale, especially from her usual well-to-do clientele. 

Three boutiques later Kurt was getting very frustrated. If he didn’t find something soon the nanny would be signing for the pizza, the boys wouldn’t eat salad, and he’d be facing leftover pizza for dinner. In despair, he finally went into the enormous baby superstore several blocks from his apartment. 

The huge box store, which advertised deeply discounted prices and carried everything one could possibly need for a baby, from most of the major brands, had never been Kurt’s first choice. Blaine didn’t mind it as much, and at times Kurt couldn’t really avoid it, but he never liked it. First of all, he preferred higher end and designer brands, although he finally did admit that the major mass market brands worked fine for play clothes. But the second thing he hated about the store was its sheer size. While it had everything, the store was so large it was difficult to even determine which way to go to get to whatever it was that you needed to buy. 

As he stared at the signs hanging from the high, warehouse type ceiling, trying in vain to find which way to go to find clothing, he was approached by a young man, who couldn’t have been out of his teens, in a uniform. “Can I help you, sir?”

“I need to find preemie clothes. Do you carry them?”

“Um, it’s not my department, but I think so. They’d be with the other clothes.”

“Which are where?”

“Oh, that I can help you with. Middle of the store, straight back behind the furniture,” the young man instructed, happy to have been able to help.

Kurt wound his way through several model nurseries set up with cheap pre-fab press board and veneer furniture before finding himself suddenly surrounded by racks and racks of clothes, in almost any mass market national brand one could want (or not want, he thought), as well as the store’s house brand, in sizes designed for newborns through toddlers. Feeling crunched for time, he stared at the huge selection in dismay, not sure where to begin.

“Looking for anything in particular?” Kurt looked to the side, to see a petite brunette woman in her early twenties, dressed similarly to the young man, in cheap khakis, a chambray shirt, a smock, and sneakers. The look was a far cry from the well-dressed women who staffed his favorite boutiques, but she was friendly and seemed willing to help.

“My daughter was born early, six weeks early, a few days ago. She’s still in the hospital, and-“

“And you need preemie clothes,” the young woman stated matter-of-factly. “It’s a good sign that they asked you to bring in clothes at this point. She’ll be home before you know it.”

“Wow. You know a lot about it. That’s what they said at the hospital. Do you have, I mean, did you have a premature baby?” Kurt was astounded at how knowledgeable and helpful she was.

“Nope, but I’ve worked here for three years. It’s a job, and it pays more than the work-study jobs on campus. Not a lot, but every bit helps. I’ve seen a lot of people who’ve had preemies come through here.”

“Oh. That makes sense,” Kurt said.

“Follow me. I’ll get you set up.”

Kurt obediently followed the young woman, whose name tag read “AMY.”

“She’s still in the hospital, so they want stuff that’s comfortable and easy on-easy off, right?”

“Yes, that’s exactly right.”

“Okay, here we go,” said, as she began handing things to Kurt. “Let’s get you about a dozen onesies, several sleepers, a few t-shirts, not too many because it’s nearly winter, she’ll be living in mostly sleepers.”

Once Kurt’s arms were full of practical clothes that looked like they’d fit a small doll, the helpful clerk gave him directions to the registers at the front of the store.

A few minutes later Kurt was on his way home, reaching it just in time to sign for the pizza and sit the boys down at the table with salads and scowling faces as they looked longingly at the pizza on the counter. As they boys ate, Kurt and the nanny removed the tags from the clothes and threw them into the washer, then sat down to eat their own meals. After dinner they dried them while putting the boys to bed. As soon as stories were read and goodnight kisses given, the boys were tucked in, a lullaby was sung, and the nanny was in charge again as Kurt rushed to the hospital.

* * *

In the NICU, Kurt took over kangaroo care as soon as he could convince Blaine to relinquish Ellie, while Blaine eyed Kurt’s purchases. A smiling nurse brought over a rectangular plastic storage tub with a lid, labeled with Ellie’s name, in which to store her new clothes. As he transferred them from Kurt’s bag to the tub, he looked at them in amazement. “I’ve never even seen clothes this little.”

“Mmm,” Kurt murmured in agreement. “They look like doll clothes. I remember when I was little, I had several friends who were girls; not so many guys, shocking as that might be.” Blaine laughed a little. From their many discussions over the years he knew he’d always had an easier time fitting in with other boys than Kurt had. “Anyway, I never had dolls, but they did. These look like doll clothes. For a small doll.”

“She is our little doll, isn’t she?” Blaine commented. Ellie opened her eyes and drew her eyebrows together and down, seeming to disapprove of her Papa’s comment.

Sensing the infant’s annoyance, Kurt tried to shift her to another position. “I just hope they aren’t too small. If newborn stuff is too big and they’re too small, I’m not sure what to do.”

“I bet they’ll work,” his husband reassured him.

The men continued to chat quietly until it was time for Ellie to eat, a few minutes before the end of visiting hours. Kurt fed Ellie, keeping up a quiet conversation with her as she stared at him intently and drank her bottle. When it was done, a nurse came over and said, “Ellie, time to say goodnight to Daddy and Papa.” The tiny baby glared at the nurse. Addressing Kurt and Blaine, the nurse said, “We should dress her for the night. Would one of you like to do the honors?”

They exchanged a glance, and without a word, Kurt stood and walked toward the isolette, cradling his daughter. “Babe, can you find me a sleeper?”

Blaine dug through the tub, finding a pink sleeper printed with little white cats curled up sleeping. He handed it to Kurt. Kurt put it on her. It fit almost perfectly, with just a bit of room for her to grow. He and Blaine both kissed her goodnight before laying her in her isolette and relinquishing her to the care of the NICU staff for the night.

As they quietly made their way home, Blaine said wonderingly, “Those clothes are just so tiny. She’s so tiny.”

“She is. But then again, in my life, a lot of the best things have come in tiny packages,” Kurt agreed, standing on his tiptoes so he could kiss the top of his husband’s head.

“Hey!” Blaine protested, swatting at his laughing husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My daughters spent twenty-nine days in the NICU, and my favorite two nurses were both men, hence the male nurse telling the boys about preemie clothes. This story is for Chris and Jason, who not only were great NICU nurses, surviving and thriving in a field and a specialty dominated by women, but managed to survive my daughters and their crazy mother (me). Please review and let me know what you think! 
> 
> Again, thank you for reading, and please leave comments and/or suggestions!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again for reading, and I'd love to hear what you think, so please leave comments! Also, if there are any other one-shots you'd like to see in this 'verse, let me know.


End file.
